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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The dangers surpassed the consequences because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She told me a story about a female gymnast with a hunger for her own pussy. Being an ex-gymnast and volunteer cheerleading coach, I figured I 'd give it a try. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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